This morning I had a chiropracter appointment with a massage following.

Michael is my massage therapist of choice, because he is not gentle by any means. Michael doesn't do cissy massages (unless maybe you ask for that, but I wouldn't know first hand).

When I get a massage, I want my muscles to shape up or ship out. I want all those nasty toxins to be expelled mercilessly. I want to notice a difference.

Have you noticed commercials for vacation destinations, where they show some woman on a beach getting a massage, and some guy is gently rubbing her shoulder using not much more than his thumb and forefinger? Almost like he is tweaking her shoulder.

That isn't even remotely related to what I get.

First of all, I request that the entire hour be spent working on my back muscles. The rest of me usually feels great, no need to waste time on perfectly good muscles. (As I am typing tonight, every time I type "muscles", I am thinking "muskles". I'm just saying...)

Anyway, today I went for my massage, and either I must be getting wimpy or Michael must be learning some new muscle torture techniques, because I thought I was going to cry.

He was sticking his elbow into my scapula and back like never before. He was bending my arm in weird angles. Maybe he was mad at someone and taking it out on me! I think I may have bruises from this or maybe even a broken bone or two. Just when I thought the bad part was over, he would do something else that would bring me to the brink of tears. But I didn't cry. No sirree. I am no cissy.

It was the longest hour of my life and I felt like roadkill. That actually crossed my mind. I felt like a flattened animal. I imagined myself being run over by a steamroller.

Damn, I can't wait until January's appointment!

If you see this dumpy red minivan, be prepared.

The lady thinks nothing of cutting in front of you in the carpool line and blocking an intersection for thirteen minutes... all with her kid in the car with her. Now there is a lovely example of good driving!

Lest you think she wasn't aware, I knocked on her window to point out her infractions, but you may have guessed that she wasn't very grateful.

Last week, the big one took the lid off of our world to deliver some popcorn.

The intermittent ringing noise started, and the big one left abruptly without replacing the lid.

We ate the popcorn first (of course) and then promptly launched ourselves over the edge of the world into outer space.

Goodbye, spinning metal wheel! Goodbye, water bottle and food dish covered up with shavings in order to keep our millet and sunflower seeds safe from roving rival gerbils!

A feeling of wildness came over us. I, being the bravest, ventured down the hall into the larger part of outer space, leaving a trail of excited gerbil turds as I traveled. Maybe we would run into some hot chick gerbils. I was feeling optimistic.

As I rounded a corner, the shorter big one saw me! We made eye contact. I knew we were toast. I turned and ran back the way I'd come.

There was a lot of noise, and then the big one and the short big one came in. I hate the team effort thing.

I decided that rather than waiting for them to get us, we should get them. I snuck up on the short big one and bit its toe, but it did not fall as I thought it would. So, I tried again but again, it didn't work.

The short big one caught Ben by the tail and put him back in our world. Then, they both came after me. It took them a while but they caught me and put me back too.

Someday, we are going to make it out of this joint for good.